


Just Another Day

by OctarineSparks



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:05:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctarineSparks/pseuds/OctarineSparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He gets up. He goes to work. Sometimes it's better when everything isn't what it seems. (Warning: traumatic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this came from. It's too sad, and I'm the bugger who wrote it.

Martin was sharply roused by the slant of sunlight that streamed through his curtains. Screwing his eyes tightly together, he groaned and threw his blankets off. Through bleary vision, he rolled onto his side and glanced at his clock. The digital display told him that it was just past eight thirty. Panic shot through him and he leapt from his bed, getting one foot tangled in the covers as he did so. 

"Damn! Damn, damn, damn, I'm going to be late!" 

He dashed to his wardrobe and flung it wide. Paying no attention to the casual clothes that hung there, drab t-shirts and jogging bottoms all in a muted grey colour, he grabbed his freshly pressed uniform from its hanger and flung it onto his bed. Then he ran to his small bathroom, brushed his teeth furiously and applied deodorant liberally to his underarms. No time for a shower; he was terrified of keeping Carolyn waiting. 

There was a knock at his door. "Martin, are you up?" a familiar voice called. 

Martin paused, confused. "Douglas? What on earth are you doing here?" he called, struggling out of his pyjamas. 

There was a heavy sigh on the other side of the door. "I thought you might like some breakfast," came the reply. 

"No time!" Martin shouted, dragging his shirt over his shoulders and struggling with the buttons. 

"We have plenty of time. Look, can I come in?"

Martin, who was now hastily putting on his trousers, hesitated. "I'm not dressed properly," he answered. 

"No matter," said Douglas, and the door swung open. 

Martin looked up, confusion clouding his features for just a moment, but it soon cleared. 

Douglas looked as impeccable as ever. His uniform was smart and neat, his hair well combed. It was no wonder everyone always thought he was the captain. 

"Good morning, Martin," he said. "How are you feeling today?"

"Hm?" Martin replied distractedly, now putting his jacket on. "Fine. I'm fine. We're going to be late, though," he warned. 

Douglas put the tray he was carrying down on Martin's bed. "Late for what?" he asked, his tone strangely insistent. 

"For work, of course!" Martin replied with a disbelieving laugh. He shook his head at Douglas and walked back into his bathroom, eying his reflection. His uniform was starting to look shabby, and slightly too big for him. He sighed. Such was the lot of an unpaid pilot, after all. 

When he returned, Douglas was making his bed, which struck him as unduly odd. 

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked as he fetched his shoes. 

"Just the usual," Douglas replied. 

Martin frowned. "Well, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," he said, smoothing down his jacket. "Let's go."

"What about your breakfast?" Douglas asked. 

"I told you, there's no time," Martin said, striding up to the door. 

He stepped out and looked worriedly up and down the house. The students had redecorated the whole thing years ago, but he still wasn't used to it. He heard Douglas following behind. 

"So, did you come in your car?" he asked as he walked down the steps. 

"Yes Martin. I came in my car." Douglas sounded very tired. Martin hoped he was fit to fly. 

"Great. We should make excellent time then," he said happily. 

Before too long, Martin found himself in the portacabin. He couldn't even really remember the ride over, but he had been going over emergency procedures in his head the whole time. It was just standard practice. 

Arthur was seated at a desk, eating a plate of bacon and eggs. Carolyn was standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, telling him to slow down. 

"Morning Skip!" he said cheerfully when he saw Martin. 

"Good morning Arthur," Martin responded, which for some reason made Arthur laugh. 

He shrugged and looked at Carolyn. "So, where are we flying to today?" he asked her. 

She frowned, looking almost annoyed. "Martin, for goodness sake, we are not-"

"Carolyn," Douglas said in a warning tone. Carolyn looked at him and took a deep breath. 

"Fine," she said. Martin pulled a face at her. She had coloured her hair again. He didn't like it. 

"We're just going on a little trip. To Highgate," she said, her tone much more jolly. 

"Highgate? Whatever for? We could drive there, surely?"

"Is that today?" Douglas asked, cutting over Martin. 

"Yes," Carolyn replied sadly. "Mr. Green has been insisting on it for a while now."

Martin looked between his two colleagues. 

"Well, we'll be landing in Heathrow, yes?" he asked. 

"That's right," she said with a nod. 

"I'm not allowed to come," Arthur said miserably. 

"Oh? Why's that?" Martin said. 

"It's not my out day today," he said, wistfully, looking out of the window. 

Martin sighed. Arthur had never been the most understandable of people, but lately he seemed to be getting worse. Perhaps he should mention something to Carolyn. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Douglas clapped him on the shoulder. 

"Well, best get it over with then," he said grimly. 

Half an hour later, the three were aboard their trusty plane. Douglas would be operating out today, so Martin settled himself into his seat and began his usual customary checks. When he was satisfied that everything was in order, he turned to Douglas. 

"Ready?" he asked. 

"Ready," Douglas replied. 

Martin leaned forward and pressed the button for the radio. "ATC, this is Golf Tango India ready for take off. Awaiting clearance." 

There was no response, but Douglas simply laid a hand on Martin's own and smiled. "No need, Captain, I've already taken care of it."

Martin nodded. "Oh, um, alright then." 

Then, suddenly, blissfully, they were up in the air again. Martin looked out of the window, at the beautiful cloud formations in front of him and smiled. This was where he belonged, where he felt at home. He smiled. He was whole again. 

In no time at all, they had landed, Martin completing his post landing checks with impressive speed. 

"What now?" he asked, turning to Carolyn who had entered the flight deck. 

"We're just going to take you to see something," Carolyn said gently. 

Martin glanced over at Douglas, concerned, but his first officer was smiling warmly back at him. 

"Alright..." he said, slightly warily. 

They disembarked, and Martin was taken aback by how different Heathrow looked these days. There were far fewer planes, for one thing, and they seemed to have landed at a part of the airport that was situated right next to a park or something. Whatever it was, it had a large, wrought iron fence running around the perimeter, and huge, imposing gates at the front. 

"What are we doing here?" he asked, as Carolyn took him gently by the arm. 

"Come on," she simply said, guiding him down a path. 

They walked for some time, among what looked to Martin like headstones. 

"This is a cemetery," he declared. "Why are we in a cemetery?" 

Douglas and Carolyn exchanged a dark glance but said nothing. They came to a stop in front of one particular headstone, a plain grey marble slab with ivy clawing up the side. 

"Read it," Carolyn told Martin. 

His insides felt cold, and his head was screaming. He could hear panic all around, a rush of air and someone sobbing. 

"I don't want to," he said softly. 

"Martin, please," Douglas urged gently. Martin stepped forward. 

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" Douglas muttered to Carolyn behind Martin's back. 

She nodded sadly. "It's been five years. Nothing else will get through to him."

Martin's eyes took in the inscription on the stone.

DOUGLAS RICHARDSON. LOVING FATHER AND FRIEND. 

He closed his eyes, forcing back the tears that were gathering there. 

"No," he whispered, but Douglas, (and how could it be Douglas?) had walked forward and taken his arm once more. 

"Best to keep going," he said softly, directing Martin to another part of the graveyard. This time there were two small stones, side by side. 

CAROLYN KNAPP-SHAPPEY. REST IN PEACE. 

ARTHUR SHAPPEY. GONE TOO SOON. 

Martin broke down into Douglas' arms as memories flooded him. 

The plane was dropping out of the sky like a stone. Douglas was shouting, Carolyn was crying. Arthur had his arms around her, his face white and scared. Martin tugged at the control column, but it was having no effect. The plane had lost all power. They were going to die. 

He remembered the ear splitting crash of twisted metal as the plane met the ground. There was heat all around him, and he was choking. He looked over at Douglas, but he was still in his chair, his face covered in blood, his eyes wide and unseeing. He had blacked out then, and after...

Well, now he was at a cemetery, standing by their graves. 

Douglas wasn't really Douglas. His name was George. He was around the same age as Douglas, with remarkably similar hair. Martin looked at him. He was wearing his hospital uniform, not a pilot's one. He remembered shouting loudly and having to be sedated when anyone but George tried to take care of him. 

Carolyn was a doctor, but he didn't recall her name. She was the only female doctor on the staff at the hospital, a good twenty years younger than Carolyn had been, but Martin's broken mind had twisted her until she was fit for purpose. 

As for Arthur, he was another patient there. He called Martin Skip because Martin refused to acknowledge him if he didn't. 

They were all dead. All gone. And he was alone. Trapped in his own memories and guilt. 

"I want to go home," he said, his voice small. 

"Of course," George said, and they returned to the mini-van. 

On the journey home, Martin was silent. He looked up to the sky, and saw the contrail of a large commercial aircraft. He closed his eyes and was gone again. 

He was flying, and he always would.


End file.
